


Fading Flames

by CozyRavioli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Deathly Hallows, F/M, Philosopher's Stone, Pre-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyRavioli/pseuds/CozyRavioli
Summary: You can always have too much of a good thing—even true love. People like to tell their lovers that they would stay with them forever if it were possible. If immortality was indeed within their grasp, would they stay true to that promise? (ONE-SHOT)





	Fading Flames

 

* * *

_**Pyrenees, France - June 16th, 1341** _

Most people would have considered it an awfully dreary experience. Where others might have groused and grumbled about walking home at night in an especially nasty thunderstorm, one particular man was more than content to brave the journey seeing as his cottage wasn't too far away from the castle grounds. Part of him even found the rain to be somewhat refreshing, and he had always considered the smell of wet grass to be pleasant. At any rate, with the apparition wards in place he didn't have much of a choice. It was just as well, because despite having years of experience the young man could never seem to keep his lunch down when apparating.

As he was nearing the bridge—which led across the ravine that separated the school from the local village—he took one last glance back towards his most treasured place in the entire world. It was impossible to keep the fond smile from appearing on his face as he surveyed his old stomping grounds, with it's wonderfully intricate architecture and the various exotic gardens surrounding it. In his mind, he owed everything in his life to the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. After all, it was there that he discovered his two greatest loves; His wife, and all things magic.

It was that dedication to his alma mater that inspired him to make this trip, so that he could donate a sizeable amount of galleons to the institute and improve the experience for the next generation of witches and wizards. Having recently come into a fair bit of money due to his ever-increasing fame, he felt it was the least he could do. He and his wife weren't ones to live in excess, so they both felt that this was the best usage of their newfound disposable income.

Turning back towards the bridge, he began to make his way across. This bridge was actually one of his main reasons for funding the school. Compared to the castle itself, the bridge was in an unfortunate state of disrepair, with cracks and indentations appearing all along its stone surface. The headmistress had always argued that the bridge was a landmark of the academy and ought not be tampered with in any way, but it was simply far too dangerous to put off any longer, so she ultimately acquiesced.

Unfortunately, the bridge had not yet been restored to its former glory at that point in time, so about halfway across the man slipped on a patch of wet mould and fell flat on his back. A loud crack was heard echoing all throughout the local wilderness. After realizing that he wasn't in any great deal of pain and that the sound wasn't caused by one of his bones breaking he panicked and assumed that he must have snapped his wand. His hand shot down to the pocket of his cloak and he was relieved to find that his wand was still in one piece. He sighed in relief and clutched the wand close to his chest. Still curious about the source of the sound he sluggishly stood up and cast a Lumos charm so that he could inspect the area for damages.

The moment he illuminated the area a nearby group of bats began screeching and flew up into the night sky. Startled, his gaze snapped upwards to the retreating cloud of creatures and it was only then that he noticed a giant mass of stone dropping directly above him from the top of the bridge. When he fell the vibrations must have broken off a piece of the already dilapidated structure.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins he flicked his wand at the stone with a speed and efficacy which he normally wouldn't be capable of mustering. Just as the gigantic chunk of rock was about to send the man to his grave he managed to transfigure it into a flock of white butterflies at the last moment, which fluttered harmlessly mere centimetres away from his face.

Letting out something between a laugh and a sob, he sprinted across the last half of the bridge and slumped down onto the earth, holding his head in his hands and taking in short, shaking breaths.

"That should have killed you."

The man turned his attention to the source of the voice. He could have sworn that he hadn't seen anyone while he was running to safety. It was even more curious that the stranger had suddenly appeared behind him, because he knew for a fact that there was nobody else on that bridge when he walked across it. The stranger was wearing tattered black clothing with a worn hood concealing his face and he spoke in a gravelly, raspy voice. The man assumed that the stranger must be some sort of drunkard, or in the worst case scenario- a brigand, so he kept his hand on his wand. Just in case.

"You almost sound disappointed that it didn't kill me," the man responded with a note of levity, in an attempt to soften the underlying accusation in his statement.

"Perhaps I am," the stranger replied, inching almost unnoticeably closer.

Unwilling to play along any longer the man opted for a more direct approach, due to his mounting unease. "I'm sorry sir, but do I know you? You speak as if you mean to threaten me and let me assure you that I am more than capable of defending myself."

Surprisingly, that seemed to amuse the stranger. "Oh, you know me. Everyone knows me. Meeting me on the other hand? Well, most people only ever get to see me in person just the one time. It seems you're one of the select few who will get the pleasure of being in my company and living to tell the tale. For some reason, the ones who manage to slip away are always on bridges at the time. Always on bridges..."

"I don't understand. What is it that you're implying?"

"I am Death."

There was a long, drawn out silence where neither individual so much as moved a muscle.

After about thirty seconds the man was unable to hold back any longer and burst out laughing. Following his bout of uncontrollable cackling, the man wiped away the tears forming at the sides of his eyes.

"As far as thieves go, I'll admit that this is a very creative method, my friend. Top marks for the costume, you've truly outdone yourself. And what is that, a voice modulation charm? Very clever. Though may I suggest carrying around a scythe? Would really tie the whole outfit together."

Feeling much more at ease now that he'd confirmed the stranger as a foolish drunk trying to pull an outlandish scam, the man turned his back to him, no longer recognizing him as a threat and continued his walk home.

He didn't make it more than a handful of strides in the opposite direction before the stranger appeared before him once more. Though, oddly enough, there was no tell-tale cracking sound typically associated with apparition.

"Really, my good man. That is quite enough out of you. I've already informed you that I won't be falling for your little sham so just give it up already. Again, I will concede that choosing not to apparate was a nice touch, very spooky. You may even manage to trick a more foolish man than I. How did you do it? A disillusionment charm, perhaps? Or-Oh! No, let me guess. This must be your famous 'invisibility cloak', isn't it, Mr Dea-"

While mocking the stranger, the man had moved his hand forward in an attempt to pat his shoulder condescendingly, but before he could reach him a gnarled hand with bone white skin stretched over abnormally long fingers shot forward and grasped the man's wrist firmly. The man couldn't help but shudder at the repulsive appendage. Before the man could demand that the stranger let his arm go, he spoke—

"You misunderstand me, this is no sham. You have bested me. You were meant to die today, it was your time. Somehow, you defied my lady Fate and lived to see another day. I merely wish to grant you a gift. A token of my appreciation to commemorate your victory over me. Anything your heart desires. It's...something of a tradition of mine."

Now thoroughly vexed by the stranger's persistence in continuing his petty charade, the man forcibly shrugged the ice-cold hand away from him and walked away at a much quicker pace.

"I've no interest in your chintzy baubles or trinkets, vagrant. I have no want for material possessions. The only things precious to me in life are my research and my wife. And every minute you spend pestering me is a moment that you're keeping me from her. I'm not afforded nearly enough time with her as is and I'd much rather be spending this evening with her rather than you. So I'm afraid that I must be taking my leave. Should you continue to follow me I will not hesitate to send you away myself. Forcibly."

He received absolute silence in response, and the man had hoped that he'd finally convinced the strange wizard to leave him alone. However, it seemed that the stranger had simply spent that time mulling over what the man had said to him.

"Is that it? You wish you had more time with your wife?" That low, guttural voice drawled out.

"Well, yes, clearly. But I can hardly see how-"

The stranger snapped his fingers and the man abruptly froze in place. He struggled to move, but this was unlike any body binding hex he had ever encountered. The only part of his body capable of movement seemed to be his eyes and even still, he couldn't help but keep them locked onto the stranger. At first, the man thought that he had seen the stranger grow a foot taller, but when he looked down he was shocked to see that the stranger had no feet to begin with and was instead levitating before him. He noticed the frost forming on the blades of grass surrounding them and his frantic breaths becoming visible in small puffs of steam. It was at this point that the man realized he truly was having an audience with Death.

"Come now, there's no need to be anxious. I was not lying to you earlier. I only aim to reward you for overcoming your demise. You wanted more time with your research and your dear wife, and I am able to give you exactly that," Death proclaimed, as he reached up and grasped the hem of his hood.

The man had no idea what to expect when Death pulled back his hood, but was disturbed beyond words when he found that there was nothing there at all. Not just nothing as in it was too dark to see. It was not the absence of light, but the absence of everything. An unforgiving pitch black abyss, from which nothing could ever return. He wanted more than anything to look away from it, fearing for his sanity, but the sight, while horrifying, was strangely enticing and he found himself being drawn towards it.

Death then used his other hand to reach inside of the void where his face should have been, and pulled a beautiful crimson red stone from deep within the nothingness. Without further ado, Death reached forward and gently placed the strange stone in the man's breast pocket.

Having finished his transaction, Death grabbed the man by his shoulders and forced him to stare directly into the depths of his eldritch visage.

"Rejoice, Mr Flamel. For now you and your beloved Perenelle have all the time in the world. Until death do you part."

 

* * *

 

Nicolas Flamel woke up screaming. Well, shrieking might be a more appropriate description but he had far too much pride to admit to such a thing. He bolted upright and began taking steady breaths to slow his thumping heart rate. He was in the process of wiping the layer of cold sweat off of his face when his wife Perenelle burst through the bedroom door wearing her nightgown.

Upon seeing the state he was in she rushed over and quickly took him in an embrace.

"What's the matter, dear? I was just reading in the study when I heard you screaming. I hadn't even known that you were home yet, I never hear you come in. Is everything alright?" she inquired, wearing a worried look on her usually jovial face.

Nicolas placed his hand on top of hers, which was currently resting on his shoulder. "Nothing serious 'Nella. Just a night terror is all. Truthfully, I can't even remember when I got home. That nightmare has me all out of sorts."

Perenelle walked around to the opposite side of the bed and slid in under the covers next to him. "Maybe it's for the best that you just go back to sleep then. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning. I would have gone to bed sooner myself had I known that you were already home. I was only staying up so that I could ask you how it went at the academy today."

Being near his wife helped the last of Nicolas' fear die away, so he gratefully sunk back into the mattress and reached out to hold her close against him. "It went just fine, love. They were very grateful for the extra funds and I'm sure that they'll put the galleons to good use. Here's hoping that they finally fix that death trap they call a bridge... Maybe there will even be enough left over to renovate the school library as well. Would be a shame to see that place change TOO much though, I have some very fond memories of you and I in there," he added, throwing a conspiratorial wink in his wife's direction.

She responded by slapping him just a bit too hard against his shoulder. "Mind your tongue, you common brute. That's no way to speak to a lady," she chided, but the playful grin on her face belied her amusement.

He chortled softly and shoved her back before continuing with his story. "Headmistress Dubois was especially pleased, you know. She insisted that because of our kind donation the academy ought to build a fountain near the entrance in our honour. I insisted that such a gesture was hardly necessary but you know how Madeleine gets. Once she thinks up a new way to decorate, there isn't much you can do to stop her," Nicolas snorted.

"Ah, so we're to be immortalized in stone, are we? Well if I need to spend the rest of eternity with anyone it may as well be you. I'm sad to say that I've grown quite fond of you, despite your childish tendencies and overinflated ego," Perenelle whispered, as if she were imparting some great secret.

Nicolas chuckled despite himself. Only his Perenelle could blatantly insult someone and still come across as sounding completely sweet and sincere. "You know, that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Second place of course being when the minister asked you if you took me as your husband at our wedding and you told him 'I suppose.' But yes, I dare say that I've grown quite fond of you as well," Nicolas said, smiling warmly towards the only person he'd ever cared for on such a profound level.

Perenelle shifted higher on the bed and moved in close to give her husband a kiss goodnight. It was cut short when she pressed against him and felt something sharp dig into her ribcage. She yelped and accidentally fell off the bed with a loud thump after flinching away. It took a great deal of effort for Nicolas not to laugh in her face when her eyes peered over the edge of the bed from down on the floor, her brown wavy hair shooting off wildly in every direction.

"Merlin, Nicolas. Most people bring teddy bears to bed with them, there's no need to overcompensate by sleeping with knives instead. What in the world do you have in your pocket, it almost eviscerated me," she groaned, rubbing her ribs as she clumsily flopped back down onto the mattress.

Nicolas, confused, began patting down the pockets in his pyjamas. "What are you talking abou-"

He abruptly stopped speaking and felt all the blood drain from his face as his fingers closed around a cold, hard, angular object deep in his right pocket. Afraid of his suspicions being confirmed, he slowly drew it out and took a deep breath before stealing a glance at what was in his hand.

Much to his chagrin, he was met with the familiar sight of that mysterious stone that Death had given him in his dream...Well, what he had originally hoped was a dream. Oddly enough, the stone appeared to be excreting a silvery, viscous liquid. Worried that the stone and whatever was coming out of it might be dangerous, he hastily tossed it into a vase of roses on the bedside table. The flowers were months old and had begun withering already, so he didn't feel too guilty about potentially poisoning them. Curiosity and fear were battling inside of him, and in the end, like always, his interest in the unknown won out and he made plans to examine the stone come morning to figure out what properties it may possess.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he only noticed that Perenelle was attempting to get his attention when she all but roared directly into his ear, "NICOLAS."

"Wha-What? Yes? Sorry, love. You know me, my mind got stuck in the clouds," he admitted, sheepishly avoiding her gaze.

Seeing that he was embarrassed, her features softened and she repeated herself. "I was just asking what that red stone was. A gift from the school? Did you find it on the way home?"

If Nicolas was going to lie he was at least going to do it correctly. One owl to the academy about the stone and Perenelle would know that he didn't get it from them. Nor could he have possibly found it on his way home, nobody just stumbles across such a thing laying on the ground. He could hardly say that the embodiment of death granted it to him, unless he wanted to end up locked away in an asylum. Thankfully, he always was rather quick-witted, so it didn't take him too long to think up a somewhat convincing story.

"Oh, the stone? Yes, I...just as I was entering the village I passed by a travelling merchant. Naturally, I had a quick peek at his wares and that stone caught my eye. I've never seen anything like it, so I thought I would buy it so that I could inspect it more closely. I don't think the vendor had any idea how valuable the stone truly might be and I was able to barter the price down to three galleons and fourteen sickles. Can you believe that? Ha, what a steal..." he trailed off, easing back under the blankets.

Perenelle pinched her eyebrows together in confusion. "Three galleons for a stone of that quality? Hmm, that is strange...This merchant must have been rather uneducated, the poor thing. Oh well, you have your fun studying your pretty little pebble tomorrow morning. Just don't get too caught up in it and forget that you're meant to have dinner with your lovely wife's family in the evening," she teased, fidgeting her way back into his side and laying her arm across his stomach.

Nicolas answers her with a soft kiss on her forehead, before he closes his eyes to sleep. "I wouldn't dream of it, dear. You know I'll always have time for you."

If either of the two had stayed awake just a few moments longer, they might have seen the wilted roses on their bedside table slowly stand upright and regain their former vibrant red coloration.

 

* * *

 

_**650 years later** _

_**Devon, England - June 16th, 1991** _

He can barely stand the sight of her anymore.

Every single day she pesters him, tries to speak with him, tries to get him to come down for dinner, tries to get him to react to her in any way at all. Nicolas can't help but resent her for still imposing her company upon him. No, no, no. No time for idle chit-chat, not when he's so close to a new breakthrough on the potential usages of graphorn hide.

Yet she still bangs on the door, and she hollers, and she pleads him to let her inside.

Absolutely not. He grimaces at the locked door behind him, and turns back towards his desk to cut his freshly harvested graphorn skin into thin strips.

There's always more to learn about magic. Always.

Whereas, Perenelle? Well, he learned everything there was to know about her well over two centuries ago. He's grown sick of the same old conversations, with the same recycled anecdotes and the all too familiar smiles and gestures. He knows that deep down, he still loves her, yet being near her makes him sick with boredom.

He's tried to seek out other company, yet nobody else could compare to her wit and warm personality. It's as if he's read his favourite novel one too many times and can't bear to even glance at the cover anymore. The problem is, his memories of the book are so nice that no other book could ever hope to entertain him. The only person in the world he can stand to be around for extended periods of time is that Dumbledore fellow, a former apprentice of his. Albus is a bit too sentimental, a bit too kind. He takes a BIT too long to get to the point when he's speaking and it makes Nicolas' skin itch. However, despite all of his flaws and inefficiency, he has a brilliant mind. Dumbledore is the only person in the world Nicolas can talk to without experiencing extreme bouts of irritability, or the urge to tear his own eyes out.

The two of them meet every other weekend and have co-authored many papers on alchemy. Yes, Nicolas likes Albus quite a bit.

"But not as much as Perenelle," he whispers to himself, his voice barely audible over the sounds of Perenelle breaking things in a fit of rage downstairs.

The small part of him that still holds love for his wife infuriates him and he begins to argue with himself.

"MORE than Perenelle. Albus actually brings things to the table, things of VALUE. He often proposes alchemical hypotheses that I've never even DREAMED of in ALL MY YEARS. He can hold an intellectual conversation better than she EVER could. Perenelle is a HAG. DEAD WEIGHT. A BLIGHT ON MY GODDAMNED LIFE. I should have stopped providing her with elixir decades ago," Nicolas shrieks in response to himself. Unable to contain his temper any longer, he launches off of his seat and swipes his wand wildly, sending an entire bookcase filled with scrolls cascading down onto the floor.

"You don't mean that. It's that accursed stone. You have been around too long, Nicolas Flamel. You have been walking this earth longer than any one man was ever intended to, and you have grown cold and rotten. Worst of all, you stay locked up in your study, taking out your frustrations on your sweet, sweet Perenelle—"

"TOO SWEET. SACCHARINE. HUNDREDS of YEARS of insipid romantic tripe and whispering sweet nothings into each others ears. I AM NUMB TO IT. Yes, she's sweet. Of course she is. But, do you know what happens to the man who consumes too many sweets? HE DIES," Nicolas roars.

"I'd like to die," he all but whispers.

Finally saying it out loud — admitting it to himself — imbues him with a sense of clarity he hadn't felt for far too long. His old bones creak as he slowly shambled to his dusty, smudged mirror and gets a good look at himself.

Long gone are the handsome, aristocratic features he sported in his youth. In their place, he sees liver spots, wild white hair with a large bald spot in the centre, and perhaps most surprisingly; A deep, overwhelming sadness in his eyes that he never noticed was present.

Nicolas honestly has no idea when he became...this. He cranes his head to look all around his room and he's shocked to find that his once beloved study is no longer nearly as appealing. Cobwebs, grime and jars filled with various organs harvested from magical creatures line the walls. The room is pitch-black, save a single bluebell flame resting in a lantern hooked above his desk.

This onslaught of self-awareness crashes over him like a wave of ice water. When did he begin to descend into madness? He muses that if crazy people knew there were crazy then there would be no crazy people, and a rare, brief chuckle sneaks past his lips — An almost foreign sensation to him. He'll have to tell that one to Perenelle later, she'll get a kick out of i-

Wait...Perenelle.

She was causing quite the ruckus earlier, but it's all gone quiet now. Nicolas presses his ear to his door, straining his ears for any sound at all but he's met with complete silence. It's as if the manor is empty. How long ago was Perenelle breaking things downstairs? It feels like minutes, but it may have been hours or even days. When you've lived for the better part of a millennium, time begins to bleed together and can become almost unrecognizable.

"Need to see 'Nella," Nicolas whisper, feeling his heart swell in a way he'd long since forgotten.

He reaches down into the pocket of his waistcoat and retrieves a phial of elixir. He can't help but scowl at the deceptive concoction. The stone may have allowed him to live far past his expiration date, but only in a physical sense. Nicolas hasn't truly lived in ages, he sees that now. He's very likely the most intelligent man alive, yet he was still stupid enough to allow himself to be tricked for six hundred years.

Regardless of his contempt for Death and his glorified snake oil, he still needs it to live, and he needs to live to make things right with his beloved. So, he brings the phial to his lips and swallows the elixir in one gulp. It's funny that he never noticed how bitter it tasted before now.

Nicolas removes all of the dozens of locking charms and wards he'd placed on the door to his study, pushes open the door and rockets down the stairs with a vigour and determination rarely seen in frail old men such as he. He shuffles along the halls as quickly as his spindly legs will allow him, checking every room he comes across and desperately calling out to his wife.

"PERENELLE? PERENELLE. I'VE BEEN A FIEND FOR THE LONGEST TIME, I CAN SEE THAT NOW. PLEASE, JUST LET ME SPEA-"

His words die in his throat the minute he enters his old bedroom, where he and Perenelle used to sleep prior to his semi-permanent move to his private study. There, laying on his side of the bed, is his wife. She's wearing a peaceful expression on her face and her right hand is gripping an empty vial labeled 'Basilisk venom'. On the floor next to the bed there's a large stain on the carpet, with heaps of shattered glass laying atop it. Perenelle had smashed her entire stock of elixir on the ground, prior to drinking the poison.

"No no no no no no, please," Nicolas mutters, eyes transfixed to the lifeless body of his wife.

"NO." Nicolas whips his wand out from the inside of his sleeve and uses a long-forgotten cleaning charm that he learned as a child to suck all of the elixir out of the carpet and then levitates what little liquid that he could salvage into Perenelle's mouth. Nicolas frantically rubs her throat, massaging the elixir down her esophagus.

He pries her eyelids open, he pats her cheek, he yells, he screams and he cries but nothing wakes her up. The elixir can sustain life forever, but it can never bring it back.

Defeated and broken, he slumps down into the bed next to her and weeps openly into her cold shoulder.

Nicolas doesn't know how long he cries or when he falls asleep, but he finds himself waking up later feeling empty and lost. Part of him hopes that when he opens his eyes the entire thing will have been a horrible nightmare. Unfortunately, when he does open his eyes the first thing he sees is Perenelle staring blankly at their ceiling and he feels his world come crashing down all over again.

When he moves in to embrace Perenelle once more he spots a piece of parchment being gripped tightly in her left hand. He swiftly grabs it, smooths it out and reverently reads his love's last words to him.

_My dear Nicolas,_

_I miss you every day. Even though you're never further than a shout away you haven't truly been home in ages. In your stead, a pretender has assumed your role. A fool's imitation that spends all his time stuck in his own mind, unwilling to acknowledge the world around him. However, I know that deep down my Nicolas is still in there. Every now and then I've been fortunate enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of the real you, but that's happening less and less these days._

_Then again, maybe it's all just been wishful thinking. Maybe the real you died a long time ago. But I can't allow myself to believe that, Nick. If I believed you were truly gone forever I would have gone mad as well. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope that one day we can be reunited, which leads us to our present situation._

_We may have drifted apart in life, but it is my sincerest hope that one day we can be together in death. I've waited for you long enough, please don't make me wait much longer. I love you._

_Forever yours,_  
_Perenelle_

Nicolas doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he settles for a mixture of both. Rough, wet chortles escape his throat as tears fall against the letter in his lap.

After he's regained some semblance of control he nudges himself over so that he's sitting next to the prone form of Perenelle. Unable to help himself, he presses a quick kiss to the crown of her head. Then he cradles the side of her neck with his hand and examines her face closely.

"Always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn't you 'Nella? And look at you now—you don't look a day over five hundred, if you don't mind my saying," Nicolas quips, before instinctively shutting his eyes closed and flinching away on reflex. When he doesn't get slapped on the shoulder for being cheeky a fresh wave of remorse rolls over him and he sighs deeply.

"I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"

No response.

That's when Nicolas looks over to the bureau in the corner, where he used to keep his spare alchemy ingredients. One flask of basilisk venom is missing, but there's still one left...

There's still one left.

Even now, his body is rejecting what he's considering. The years of paranoia and the wall of survival instinct he's built up, begging him to keep going, to keep living. He still feels the pull, the desire to go back up to his library and learn all there is to know about magic: To learn everything that can be learned.

But then he feels an even stronger pull, and it makes him face his soulmate one last time.

"It's about time I wrote a letter of my own, don't you think?"

 

* * *

 

Dumbledore reads over the note that Fawkes delivered to him at breakfast this morning once more, to make sure he didn't miss anything crucial.

_Albus,_

_It's time. I've had enough._

_The following statement may come across as a little queer, but despite our having been acquaintances for decades, I'm sad to say that you never truly knew the real Nicolas Flamel. Not to say that I purposely deceived you. No, somewhere along the way I just lost myself. Thankfully, with the help of my dear wife, I'm happy to say I've been found and I'm prepared to do what we both know I should have done a long time ago._

_I know I was a crotchety, old loon whenever I was with you and I want to apologize for my behaviour. Despite the way I acted towards you, know that deep down I always considered you a great friend, and it is one of my sincerest regrets that you couldn't have met me in my prime instead of the madman that I would eventually become. As you've likely already surmised, it's time for me to say goodbye, Albus. I would have liked to say farewell in person, but I fear that if I postpone this I may lose my nerve._

_Unfortunately, I must impose myself upon you and ask for one last favour. By the time you receive this letter I will no longer be with you. Please, floo to my manor at your earliest convenience and see to the proper burial of myself and Perenelle. And, if you would, please tell everyone that we went peacefully. Not for my sake, but for Perenelle. Her last years on this earth were hell and it was entirely my fault. At least let people think of her as I remember her. Give her a cheerful legacy. Grant her the happy life that I so wrongly took from her, even if it is largely fabricated._

_Finally, you MUST find a way to DESTROY the stone. On this I insist._

_You always were obsessed with Death's trinkets. You and your curiosity regarding the Hallows is no secret. Let me assure you, no good will come from trying to pull one over on Death. Should you need a cautionary tale in order to convince you, look no further than what he's done to me._

_I've sent the stone to my private high security vault in Gringotts. Special arrangements have been put in place so that you or a representative of yours can go and retrieve it. Along with the stone, I've also had the Mirror of Erised placed in the vault. Use it to guard the stone. Take it to Hogwarts, Hogwarts is the safest place for it. Keep it locked away from the world until you can figure out a method to destroy it. Don't fall victim to the temptation of immortality, Albus._

_Be stronger than I was._

_Your friend,_  
_Nicolas Flamel_

Albus lets out a weary sigh and holds the tip of his wand against the parchment, igniting it in the process. As much as he'd like to keep the letter as a memento of his fallen comrade, if it fell into the hands of someone unsavoury that could mean trouble.

Placing his hands on his knees for support, Dumbledore stands up from the chair behind his desk and begins to make his way across the headmaster's office, towards the fireplace in the back of the room. As he walks, he casually swishes his wand, sending out his silvery phoenix patronus to let Minerva know that she'll be acting as the headmistress for the rest of the day whilst he attends to a 'personal matter'.

Reaching up and inside the ornate urn sitting atop his mantle, Albus withdraws a fistful of floo powder and steps inside the hearth, taking care not to spill any of the powder as he enters.

One bright flash of emerald green later and Albus finds himself in the foyer of his recently deceased associate's home. He'd readily admit to anyone who asked that there was no real reason for him to be here today, as he'd already contacted the funeral parlour to pick up the bodies and arrange the funeral on the morrow. However, before they were taken away and their burial was arranged, he wanted one last private audience with his former mentor.

It doesn't take him long to figure out where the couple have chosen to rest, as their powerful magic is radiating from the bedroom. There aren't many people who can sense magic the way Albus Dumbledore can, therefore, very few people are aware that when a witch or wizard dies, their magic leaves their body and permeates the area for several days after they pass.

Feeling the force of Nicolas' and Perenelle's magic weaving around one another like wisps of smoke is a strangely intimate, beautiful thing and Dumbledore is honoured to be able to behold it. Wiping away the tears dangerously close to falling from the crinkled corners of his eyes, Albus stands to the right of the four poster bed and surveys the two people laying on its surface.

"Good evening, Nicolas. Perenelle," he adds, nodding to each of them respectively.

Naturally neither of them respond, but Albus would be more concerned if they did, given the circumstances.

"I must say, you both look well." And he isn't being sarcastic. In all the years he's known the married couple, never has Albus seen the two of them look so carefree. Neither of them are sporting their usual frowns, and Nicolas' signature scowl has been replaced by a an almost imperceptible smile.

Slowly, as not to hurt his back, Dumbledore bends over and places his hand on Nicolas' shoulder. "I've sent my groundskeeper Hagrid to pick up the stone from Gringotts, Nicolas. He happened to have other business to attend to in Diagon Alley, so I felt this would be the least conspicuous way to withdraw it. You'd never guess what else he's been tasked with... Shopping for school supplies with Austin James!"

Albus chuckles lightly before continuing. "You always did want to examine that scar of his, as if the poor boy would be keen on being prodded in the forehead for hours on end."

The silence is beginning to weigh down the room and Albus feels grief begin to chip away at his heart once again. However, he also feels closure and perhaps most importantly- Relief. Relief that two of his closest friends have finally found their peace. Standing back up, he steps back one pace and brushes off his robes.

"Well, I'd say that it's about time I take my leave... Take care Nicolas, and you as well Perenelle. You two have earned your rest and I look forward to seeing you again whenever my time comes... Thank you, for everything."

With that, he pats the edge of the bed and leaves through the fireplace in a burst of flames, wearing a somber smile of his own.

Unbeknownst to him, or any other living being, just as the headmaster floos back to Hogwarts, a figure shrouded in black cloth swirls into existence from thin air. The being floats over to the bed, reaches its hands within the chests of the old couple laying there and pulls out two radiant, golden orbs. Having attained the prizes he'd sought after for many centuries, the wraith flies upwards through the ceiling and vanishes into the night's sky.

And so, Death took the two lovers.


End file.
